


A Different Kind Of Art

by artificialmay



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: AU, F/F, Lesbian AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:06:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialmay/pseuds/artificialmay
Summary: Being the digital art curator at a gallery is never easy, especially when inspiration is nonexistent, no one takes your art seriously and you start to get attached to the talent you’ve sourced.Someone requested this fic from me and I kind of ran away with the plot. Hopefully I’ve done the prompt justice and you guys enjoy it, I’ve enjoyed writing it.





	1. Chapter 1

In the past few weeks, winter had morphed into spring, although you wouldn’t have known from the temperatures that still hung low. It was another unseasonably cold spring day, and as soon as Sasha emerged from the subway station the wind instantly began whipping around her, causing her hair and coat to lose the definition she had spent careful time creating. The coat flapped in the breeze, and blonde strands of her hair flew every which way, tangling in on themselves and gluing themselves to her lips thanks to the shiny red lipstick painted there. Like every commuter in the city, she put her head down, and made her way forth to her destination, internally cursing the abnormal weather.

The gallery where she worked was thankfully not a far walk, although she was thoroughly dishevelled by the time she stumbled through the revolving glass doors. A quick glance in the large window confirmed her suspicions - she was an absolute mess right now. Trying to smooth down her blonde curls to their prior state, she made her way through the main atrium. The lifts were deserted, which Sasha was grateful for. Whenever there was someone else there their contempt for her was almost palpable - “she’s the graphic artist” their faces seemed to say. It didn’t normally bother Sasha, she was happy in her little section of the gallery where computer generated shapes and live performances were considered art just as much as the oil canvasses that hung the whisper-quiet marble halls in the other parts of the gallery. However, almost a year had passed since she had taken the position of graphic art curator at the gallery and for almost a year every day there had been a different polished worker who looked down at her.

The lift dinged, and Sasha headed down to the basement level where her cramped office and workspaces were, an area that was safe from the critiques of the classical artists and curators. It was always warm down there, it also housed all the large computer equipment that serviced the rest of the gallery, and Sasha supposed some director had thought that since the graphics artists used computers, they would be at home with wires and modems everywhere. More than once, their department had been confused with the IT department, and Aja, Sasha’s easily irritated and easily bored secretary had been given a warning about how she spoke to employees after loudly suggesting where several members of the museum’s executive team could plug their cables.

The lift doors opened directly into the main workspace, which only contained Aja’s desk and a large table. A short corridor led to Sasha’s office, which if she stood in the middle and stretched enough she could touch all four walls of at the same time, and a boxy meeting room that had last been redecorated in the mid-70s. It wasn’t a lot, and Sasha could see how this could make other departments question the sincerity of the digital art department, but to her it was something precious. She had taken the position as it was about to wilt and die, and with the help of the other digital art worker, Peppermint, they had been able to establish regular collections that were beginning to make a name for themselves around the city.

Aja nodded at Sasha, and that was likely the largest hello she’d get from the girl, who was leaning forward in her squeaky office chair, typing rapidly on her phone, obviously more engrossed in whatever bad decision one of her friends had made over their drunken weekend than the pile of paperwork that had been sitting on her desk for a fair while now. Sasha made a mental note to file it herself later that night, or they may as well have thrown the documents out of the top storey window. Aja might have an ear to the ground on the most up-and-coming artists of the city, but trying to get her to do work was like asking a dolphin to set up a Christmas tree. You could try, but there’d be either no result or more work to do than you’d started with.

The department was quiet anyway. They’d just set up an exhibition, which meant they had a few weeks of reprieve before the stress of the next exhibition came around. Usually, Sasha took this opportunity to create some of her own works, which usually ended up on display in the exhibitions. Once, Sasha had dreamed of getting into galleries like the Met with her traditional paint-on-canvas art, but had found the innumerable obstacles too much, and had instead found a passion in graphic art, and pixels and styluses had begun to become her staples rather than brushes and thick paper.

However, for the past few months Sasha was beginning to feel as though she had no talent left. Too often did she find herself staring at a blank project, spinning her pen around her fingers, feeling her eyes dry up from the bluish light emitted by her laptop. Even this morning, she’d woken up on the couch with her laptop burning her legs. Inspiration usually came and went but right now it felt as though it was never coming back.

She’d dumped her bag down, and was rifling through some papers, a halfhearted attempt at procrastination, when Peppermint poked her head through the door. Seeing Sasha’s actions she smiled slightly.  
“Not in the mood for work?” she asked, letting herself in and leaning against the doorframe.  
Sasha rolled her eyes. “I haven’t been in the mood for work for about a month, Pep. Which is strange because-”  
“Because this is your passion and you’re usually so brilliant?” finished Peppermint. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll get back into it, you just need to find a spark.”  
“Could you be any more cliche?” groaned Sasha. “I know inspiration will hit but it’s starting to feel like it never will.”  
Peppermint made a sympathetic noise, before pushing herself up. “You know what we should do? Figure out the next installation.”  
Sasha looked up at Peppermint. “We’ve only just finished the current one though.”  
“Yeah, but it’ll take your mind off coming up with work of your own.”

Sasha supposed Peppermint was right, she always seemed to be. There was something about the older woman that always made Sasha feel as though she’d be okay, no matter what issues she was having. Leaning back in her chair, Sasha chewed on her pen, thinking.  
“I wanted to see if we could do a performance element,” she mused. “Like, not just lights and that but have an opening with performers to showcase not only the art we put on display but also up-and-coming artists in the area.”  
Peppermint nodded along as Sasha spoke.  
“Because the other departments have launches all the time, why should we be different? Except y’know, we won’t have the string quartets and the champagne,” she added as an afterthought.  
Peppermint was smiling broadly as Sasha put her now mildly mangled pen back on the desk.  
“See, you still have good ideas!” she said encouragingly. “That sounds really good, we could get club performers and raise money for the department - then we might actually be able to afford champagne for the next launch.”  
Pleased that she’d at least managed to sort out one issue, Sasha continued, a little apprehensive.  
“I, I just don’t really know anyone we could contact.”

It was true. The past few months the setting of Sasha’s life had consisted of her house, the gallery and the subway journey on the way between the two. She’d been so wrapped up in herself and her art (or rather the lack of it) that she briefly wondered if the reason she couldn’t create anything at the moment was because she needed to go out, like some sort of twisted “which came first the chicken or the egg” type scenario.

Peppermint must have understood however, as she took in Sasha’s concerns without any remarks, instead choosing to mutter to herself “performers, performers” as she thought. Sasha’s insides twisted a little bit. What kind of curator was she if she couldn’t even name one artist she wanted to display? Luckily her internalisation was cut short by a quick intake of breath from Peppermint.  
“Got it,” she said, grabbing Sasha’s arm, and jerking her out of the office so they were standing in front of Aja’s desk. Aja looked up lazily, at Peppermint’s wide and excited grin and Sasha’s face, painted in an expression of utmost confusion.

“Aja, you know that kid at the club last night,” began Peppermint, “the friend of yours?”  
“Well I do have multiple friends Peppermint, you’re going to have to be a little more specific,” responded Aja, turning her phone off and dropping her phone onto the paper littered surface of her desk in a way that Sasha considered way too overdramatic.  
Peppermint rolled her eyes and continued. “She was performing, she had long black hair,” Peppermint was gesticulating now, and Sasha still had absolutely no clue what was going.  
“Yeah, Shea? What about her?”   
“Sasha wants live performers club performers and stuff for the next exhibition, and how perfect would she be for that?”  
Aja’s face lit up at that, and Sasha felt a little bubble of excitement at the base of her core. Maybe this installation would be the perfect project to prove to the rest of the gallery that digital art was more than just a cool little brother to the classical artwork in the gallery, tagging along and being included because it had to.

“Seriously Sash, you should check her out,” drawled Aja, “she does everything, dance, sing, she’s great.”  
“Well that’s great, I mean that sounds perfect,” said Sasha, “would she be down though?”  
“I don’t know, probably. She usually does performances at the spring festival each year, and since that’s on at the moment, she might be a bit busy, but who knows? Do you want her details?” asked Aja, the aforementioned details already up on her phone, waiting for Sasha’s approval for sending the message.  
“Of course,” Sasha responded, then added hesitantly, “does she have a portfolio though, it’s gallery protocol…”  
Aja rolled her eyes and Peppermint laughed behind her. “I don’t know if she’d have a portfolio per se,” said Peppermint, “but there’s a ton of her performances on YouTube and I think that would be enough to convince anyone she’s an amazing performer.”  
“Well I’ll go check out some of her videos quickly then I’ll give her a call if she has what we’re looking for,” said Sasha, nodding in thanks to Aja, who just smirked and said, “oh she will be.”

One and a half hours later, Sasha looked at the clocked and almost jumped out of her chair after blinking slowly at the clock. For about fifteen minutes, Peppermint and Aja had stood behind her, watching the YouTube videos, before they had mentioned they had other work to do, in Peppermint’s case looking through the accounts, in Aja’s looking through her Instagram feed. Sasha had shooed them out of the office, and she’d told them she was going to call the girl in the videos, but somehow she just couldn’t stop herself from pressing play on a new video. The way the girl in the videos moved was entrancing, hypnotic, and she had Sasha completely hooked, even just from the way she walked onto the various stages, sure and confident in her ability. If Sasha had been even somewhat doubtful of whether Aja’s friend would be the right performer for the exhibition, she supposed that spending nearly all her  browsing through her performances showed that Sasha had nothing to worry about.

A little guiltily, Sasha looked out of the office to where her coworkers sat, and a small shiver of anticipation ran through her. She’d just received a text from Aja full of other bands and artists they could use for the exhibition launch and Sasha could see the event forming in her head, and was thrilled that something was finally going right. Her heart was beating quickly, maybe a little too quickly as she picked up the phone and dialed the number Aja had sent her. The phone rang three times, and those three electronic trills were just enough to start Sasha doubting her project. She was about to end the call when someone finally picked up.

“Hello, this is Shea Coulee.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here’s part two where the drama starts to thicken ;) Hopefully you guys all enjoy this, the second chapter probably won't be up for a real long time bc I have a lot on and little to no time to write but it will be up as soon as possible.
> 
> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr and if you enjoyed this chapter let me know, I love reading you guys' comments <33

Sasha’s phone meeting with Shea Coulee had gone well, Shea seemed up for the idea, but hadn’t been able to talk at that moment. As Aja had predicted the dancer was performing in the spring festival, and had been just about to go onstage. Sasha had offered to call back, but Shea had told her to come down the festival, which Sasha had been only too keen for - any excuse to watch Shea perform, she thought.

To Sasha’s great relief, the wind had died down, but a chill still remained in the air, despite the bright sun hovering overhead. Grateful for her long coat, which she pulled close around her, she consulted her phone, which told her the park where the festival was located was a short walk away from the gallery. Deciding the exercise she’d get from the walk was better than taking the subway, she set off in the direction of the park.

Before she knew it she was there, making her way though marquees and stalls that sold jams and fruits and all kinds of arts and crafts. Trying to figure her way out of the market section of the festival didn’t take too long, the noise coming from the other end of the park was inescapable, and though the sun was momentarily hidden behind the festival seemed a bright place. Shea had mentioned her troupe was going to be performing, and Sasha figured they were nearing the end of their act, so she leaned against a nearby tree to watch the performance unfold.

There were a couple of watchers scattered around, most giving the dancers onstage a passing glance before returning to their conversations, bubbling to see the rest of the festival. Sasha felt a pang of sympathy for the dancers, she knew what it was like to have her work skimmed over, or skipped because more important things were ahead. Although those who were watching were enraptured, and rightfully so. The performance was different to those that she’d spent the morning watching. Even through she was out of a darkened, flashing club and with another group of performers, Shea was still the star, but there was an element about it that seemed a little more subdued. The nightclub performances were raw and sensual, but the way the dancers moved held a timeless grace to them.

For the first time in a long time, Sasha’s fingers itched to grab her stylus and start drawing, so she made do with a napkin stolen from a food truck and a biro she’d found in her pocket. As Shea swayed onstage, Sasha’s pen told the story of her dance through the curving lines, and the subtle shading at the corners of the piece. As the music swelled to an end, Sasha looked at the napkin critically. It might not be the best, but it was more than she’d had to work with over the past few weeks. Stowing the napkin and the biro back in her coat pocket, she made her way over to the side of the stage where Shea had told her to meet, the girl in question undoing her high ponytail and shaking her hair out down her back. Sasha took a deep breath in to calm her nerves.

Shea noticed her before Sasha had time to say anything, a questioning look on her face as she walked over, confident, yet still open and friendly.  
“You must be Sasha,” she asked, “or else it’s not really what you do to loiter around backstage after a performance when you weren’t even in the show.”  
Sasha laughed weakly. “Yes, yes I am Sasha,” she said, her voice a lot more even than she felt. Normally Sasha was a pro at these kind of meetings, contacting the local artists but for some reason with Shea’s cool, calm face with one eyebrow slightly perched in front of her, she felt frazzled.  
“We spoke on the phone earlier, I wanted to ask you if you’d be interested in performing at the gallery for the digital art department’s exhibition,” she started. “We want to showcase local talent and show that digital art and even modern art can have many forms and-”  
Shea cut her off. “Want to go get coffee while we talk?”

The two of them wandered through the park, through the booths and the stalls, hands clutched around large paper cups holding steaming caffeinated drinks. Shea had kept shivering, and despite her protests that she was absolutely fine and didn’t need anything, Sasha had shed her long coat and given it to the taller girl, even though now it was her who was wincing at the bite of the wind through her turtleneck. They’d ended up walking to a corner of the park that was secluded, an oddity at a time like this. There wasn’t a lot in that corner, the earth was dry and dusty rather than springy, and the single bench was covered in obscene carvings and old wads of gum. Objectively, Sasha could see why this little area was bordered by a large white marquee, so no one would see this ugly side to the city.

Nonetheless, the two of them sat on the bench, their initial conversation of the gallery and the exhibition had run its course before Sasha had even been able to pick up her latte, Shea was excited, and would definitely be there. The conversation had moved on now, to something different, not between two potential work colleagues, but between two potential friends.

Everything had been going brilliantly, the two warmed from laughing despite the cold. Sasha felt giddy, finally someone else was there to talk to her about the world with a similar eye to her. An hour passed, and then another half, and the two were close together now, for warmth, Sasha reasoned, that was the only reason why.  _There needs to be a storm_ , Sasha thought,  _something that can break this weather and get everything back to normal._

The conversation had lulled a little bit, and Sasha knew at some point she’d have to stand up and leave, go back to the gallery and her office, and start firing off emails, scrambling together an exhibition for the coming month. She was drawing up a to-do list in her head, people needed to be emailed, people needed to be paid, spaces needed to be cleaned. And hell, she had to actually draw something. The list was coming together in her mind, and as her schedule began to lay itself, she turned to Shea.

“So you’ll be able to make rehearsals right? There’ll be a couple a week, and I guess you’ll need to choreograph something, I’m not really a dancer, so I wouldn’t know,” she trailed off, Shea looking at her with a slightly quizzical expression.  
“A couple a week? Like more than one?”  
“Well, yeah, it’s a reputable gallery, and just because we’re a small department doesn’t mean we don’t want to have a kickass exhibition,” Sasha responded.  
“I’m not going to have the time, I’m sorry,” the taller girl responded, “I made the commitment to the festival-”  
“I mean, we’re still a pretty big department, and in one of the best galleries in Brooklyn,” Sasha bit back, stung a little that Shea would think herself above such an exhibition, assume that only one rehearsal would be adequate for the department.  
“Sash, it’s not that I don’t want to do it,” responded Shea, setting her mouth defiantly, the nickname she’d spontaneously chosen making Sasha melt a little inside. “I’m just so busy with the performance, and I made a prior commitment to the troop, it wouldn’t be fair.”

Despite Shea’s apologetic smile Sasha felt a brief flash of annoyance behind her eyelids - odd, since Sasha usually considered herself a calm and chilled person.  
“Well yeah I guess,” retorted Sasha, wincing at how whiny her voice sounded, “but this would mean so much to me, and the gallery.”  
Shea narrowed her eyes, apparently taking offence to Sasha’s tone. “And no offence Sasha, but you are literally no one to me, we literally just met. And yes, you seem like a pretty cool person, and I’d love to support your gallery, I’m not going to blow off my friends and people I committed to long before you.”  
Sasha was speechless, the annoyance in Shea’s voice resonating hard somewhere deep inside her, sparking an anger she herself didn’t even know she held  
“Fine,” shot back Sasha. “I’ll find someone else. New York’s pretty big - you’re not special because you can dance.”

Shea rolled her eyes, and Sasha chose that moment to push herself up from the bench, hoping her shaky movements weren’t betrayed by a tremble of a limb.  
“I guess I’d better go then,” she continued, fighting the quaver that threatened to poach its way into her words. Sasha hated fighting people, especially people she liked. But for some reason she couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the lean girl remaining seated, regal features set and motionless like a porcelain doll.

She stormed off, the turn of her heel kicking up a little patch of dust that had previously been packed into the earth. She wound her way through the marquees and stark white tents, willing herself not to do something like cry, or run back and throw herself down and apologise. She was strong, but she could feel Shea’s eyes burrowing into her back as she left the park. She picked up her pace.

Sasha’s storming off slowed down considerably about a block away from the park, due to the panic, lingering anger and shame she was feeling and also somewhat due the fact she hadn’t done any exercise since she’d graduated high school. Her thoughts clouded around in her head, too many questions all being asked, and for once, her logical mind wasn’t able to pull any reason for anything that had just happened, everything was blurring too fast, too together, unable to yank any cohesion from the tight knit tangle in her chest and her brain.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she had been affected the way she was. She wanted Shea to accept her, and Sasha couldn’t help but feel as though Shea didn’t take her seriously, just another person who thought modern art didn’t belong in a gallery - until she realised Shea concern’s had been perfectly reasonable, and Sasha had charged in like a bull in a china shop, accusing Shea of not caring and unjustly taking her own anger out on the girl. The angry ball of tension that her body had become dissolved into a well of shame, no matter what she did to try to distract herself, the reminder of what she’d said and how she’d overreacted popped out at her like camera flashes on a red carpet.

Thankfully something did float to the surface that didn’t shout Shea Coulee in neon bright screams - she needed to email the board of executives to tell them about their current project. Her gratefulness at having a distraction from the dancer waned almost immediately however, as the hundred other little tasks she’d been planning started bobbing to the surface of her mind, like the scummy flotsam of a polluted harbour. Knowing she’d never remember everything that was coming to her mind, she patted her hip absentmindedly, searching for the biro that she knew was in her pocket before realising Shea still had her coat.

+++

When Sasha arrived back at the gallery, once again taking the groaning elevator and passing the leaky and creaking water pipes ornamenting the basement corridors, Aja was on the phone, debating something in a muted tone. Sasha could tell it was something important the girl was discussing, by the fact she was bolt upright in her chair, and was twirling the cord of the phone around her finger with an increased urgency. Sasha dumped her bag on a table and took a seat next to it, normally she hated Aja’s dismissal of conventional furniture, but Sasha was stressed enough to break her own rules and follow the younger girl’s habits.

A thump echoed through the office, as Aja’s hand connected with the desk, causing Peppermint to pop her head out of the room she’d been occupying and come out to perch on the table next to Sasha and start scrolling through the emails on her phone.  
“How’d it go with Shea-” she started, and thankfully was cut off by Aja’s voice raising, and a the beginning of a fiery string of insults from the desk in the corner.  
“No way, you do not get to say that you bloody good for nothing-”  
Peppermint plucked the phone out of Aja’s hand, cutting off the rant and preventing the receiver from hearing the main part of what Aja had to say.  
“I’m very sorry,” said Peppermint, a congenial professionalism to her voice, her mouth tightening as muffled monologue was emitted from the receiver. “Yes, yes, I am aware. Well thank you,” she finished, handing the phone back to Aja.  
“Yeah thanks for nothing,” Aja spat into the phone.

She slammed down the phone with an angry vehemence. “That,” she said sourly, “was Valentina,” speaking the name with a kind of disgust she usually reserved for country music and furries. Peppermint smiled sympathetically, and Sasha followed - she knew how dealing with the newest member  
“They’re forcing us to either change our launch date or scrap it altogether,” Aja fumed.  
Sasha felt as though the bottom of her had been opened up and her insides were falling out. Vaguely, she could hear Peppermint asking why, and she remembered the calendar of events she’d been emailed ages ago that had mentioned the arrival of a soft sculpture exhibition by leading artist Serena Cha Cha that would have its own opening, that had been highlighted as Very Important. Valentina had been in charge of organising the event, and while Sasha had nothing against her, the younger employee had a tendency to have everything done exactly the way she wanted, no matter what she had to do, or who she had to twist around her finger.

Aja was just finishing up a rant when Sasha returned from her dissociative fog “Apparently our event will be too loud, and they’ll be disturbed all the way up in the fucking main gallery,” Aja fumed, before beginning to say exactly what she thought of Valentina. “A week before the event? That’s deliberate sabotage!” continued Aja, and Peppermint put a hand on Aja’s shoulder in an attempt to calm the younger girl down.  
“I’m sure it’s not sabotage,” she said, although her mouth was set in a thin line. “I’m sure it was just a coincidence, the launch isn’t completely over, we’ll just have to rethink what we’re doing.”  
Peppermint nodded. “Well, at least we have Shea Coulee performing, that’ll draw people no matter the date we put on the flyer.”  
Sasha’s blood ran cold, and she realised that she had completely, royally fucked up. “About that,” she began, already envisioning the disappointed reactions the others would display when she told them what had happened at the park. “I may have blown that chance.”


End file.
